"Don't you dare!"
Brielle's voice cut through the suffocating silence like a blade. Everyone turned to look at her -- the only one in the room brave, or perhaps foolish enough, to spit fury directly at the patriarch. Her eyes burned, her hands clenched at her sides as she took a step forward, every inch of her frame trembling with anger.
"If you ever lay a hand on him again," she hissed, glaring at the old man at the head of the table, "I swear I'll pull out my family's entire investment from Crownridge. Do you hear me? Every last cent. And I'll make sure you pay for it. You'll regret the day you ever thought you could use us like pawns!"
The words hung heavy in the air. Gasps rose from Helena and Edward's throats, their eyes widening at Brielle's audacity. Even Evelyn, who stood rigid with her fists curled at her sides, couldn't hide the quick flicker of surprise that crossed her face. Damien's jaw tightened, though his eyes never left Logan, who was still hunched and bloodied from the beating he had taken minutes ago.
Logan staggered, breathing harshly, his chest rising and falling like a wild animal's. His knuckles were white against the edge of the table, but when Brielle shouted, his head turned slightly. Slowly, he straightened, his body shaking with the effort, but his pride forcing him upward. His gaze locked with the patriarch's -- two pairs of eyes, one blazing with youthful defiance, the other carrying decades of cold ruthlessness.
Logan's lips parted, but no words came. His stare said enough: he wasn't beaten, not in spirit.
The old man, sitting there with his cane resting by his chair, broke into a slow, cold smile. His wrinkled mouth curved upward with a mix of disdain and amusement. "Of course," he said finally, his voice low but cutting through every corner of the room. "Once the new project begins… fully funded by your family, Brielle… no one will ever lay a finger on Logan again. You have my word."
The mockery in his tone wasn't lost on anyone.
Brielle's nostrils flared, her fury refusing to subside, but she forced herself into her chair, the scrape of it against the floor loud and jarring. Only she and Logan sat, the others remaining stiff, standing at the table. Logan lowered himself down as well, his breaths shallow, but his eyes still locked firmly on the old man.
The patriarch then shifted his attention. His gaze slid slowly to Helena, who stood closest to his right side. For a moment, his face softened -- not with affection, but with acknowledgment. "You," he said, tapping his cane once against the ground. "At least you understand what it means to keep this family's dignity intact. The work you've done for Crownridge is remarkable. Unlike your useless husband."
Edward's shoulders stiffened at the insult, but he didn't dare raise his head. Helena inclined hers instead, bowing slightly. "Thank you, Papa," she said softly, the word trembling in the tension of the air.
"Put Brielle's family's investment to good use," the old man ordered. "I don't want a single coin wasted. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, Papa," Helena answered quickly, her voice carrying both obedience and fear.
He leaned back, gripping his cane, and with effort pushed himself up from the head chair. The entire room seemed to hold its breath. He walked slowly, the tap of the cane echoing against the marble floor, each step heavy with the weight of authority.
But just before he crossed the threshold, he paused. His head turned, his sharp eyes cutting into Damien, who had remained silent the entire time, his fists hidden beneath the table, knuckles bloodless.
"And you," the old man said, his voice dripping with warning. "Don't think I've forgotten. One year. That's all you have left. One year to fulfill your end of our agreement. If you fail me, Damien, you'll find out just how little mercy I've ever had."
The room went stiller than before, Damien's jaw flexing but his lips sealed. He gave nothing away, though his eyes smoldered. The patriarch's gaze lingered for a moment longer before he finally left the dining hall, his cane striking the ground like a gavel of judgment.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Evelyn was the first to break it. Her hands, still trembling from earlier, curled tighter as she turned and stormed out, fury radiating from every step. Her fiancé Lucas followed quickly after, his expression blank but his strides firm, like he wanted no part of what lingered in that room.
Logan, still breathing hard, wiped blood from his lip and pushed himself away from the table. Without a word, he walked out too, his footsteps heavy with anger.
Brielle's heels clicked as she moved to follow him, but before she could reach the door, Helena's voice stopped her.
"Brielle," Helena said, her tone low but commanding. "A word."
Brielle stiffened, then turned slightly, narrowing her eyes at her. Edward and Damien left in silence, leaving just the two women in the vast room.
"Thank you," Helena said softly, stepping closer, her voice almost motherly now. "For what you did for Logan. It means a lot.."
Brielle scoffed, cutting her off. "Don't thank me. You're a useless mother to him. An onlooker while he bleeds, beaten in front of your eyes."
Helena smiled faintly, as if she'd expected that. She moved closer, her voice dropping, the space between them shrinking with a kind of slow menace. "I was once like you, Brielle. Wealthy, proud, loved by my family. I thought it would last forever. Then I married Edward. I loved him. I gave him children. And everything changed."
Brielle shifted uncomfortably as Helena's hand suddenly reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face, her touch almost tender yet heavy with implication.
"Nothing lasts for long," Helena murmured. "Everything I once had was gone in a blink. I had to claw my way back just to gain Papa's favor, just to stand where I do now. He is more than what you see, Brielle. More than anyone imagines. Be careful."
Brielle's lips curled into a cold smile. "I don't care what he is. No one touches what belongs to me and goes scot-free."
With that, she turned sharply and walked out, her heels striking like thunderclaps, leaving Helena behind with her faint, unreadable smile.